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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940453">a silence we share</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscalculated/pseuds/mismatched'>mismatched (miscalculated)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>SEVENTEEN (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Canon Compliant, Declarations Of Love, Fluff, M/M, RIP jigyu roommates, Sharing a Bed, only members stated by name are written</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-27</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:36:03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,079</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24940453</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/miscalculated/pseuds/mismatched</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>This is what he knows. Why it hasn’t been awkward in years, why Mingyu can stare unyieldingly and Jihoon doesn’t shy away nor crumble in his hands. Here’s the culmination of every glance, every time Jihoon lied with Mingyu or Mingyu lied with him, every time Mingyu could be with Jihoon in his studio to share their silence like they’re carrying on a pervasive, wordless conversation. Co-exist and not fret over what to say or do next. </p><p>Love. </p><p>*</p><p>Jihoon and Mingyu are no longer roommates, but Jihoon’s always been here. Same room, different one, doesn’t matter. Jihoon is Mingyu’s constant. His friend, his bandmate, his first love.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Kim Mingyu/Lee Jihoon | Woozi</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>216</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>and they weren't roommates (oh my god they weren't roommates)</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>a silence we share</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>howdy,</p><p>wow. i never thought i'd see the day that i publish something on this ao3 that's rated less than 'mature'. but then the news came out that jigyu are no longer roommates and twitter had me in my feelings and then a couple of us started talking like... we should send off the end of the jigyu roommates era with a bang - ex-roommates fics. </p><p>so that's what im here doing. check out the rest of the collection (when they come out) from other great jigyu authors! hope you enjoy, and thanks so much for reading and supporting. [heart emoji]</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Outside of promotions, Mingyu’s strict instructions are to lay low. Yeah — his scandal isn’t quite fresh anymore, but his impromptu apology during the showcase struck another match to it, has the tabloids circling around his carcass like vultures; </span>
  <em>
    <span>we can’t have you return to radio or variety shows with the others for the time being</span>
  </em>
  <span>, his managers explained to him. Something about it being too much too soon, about looking over-eager for the fans to forgive and forget, and extra little comments that Mingyu missed because he stopped paying attention after the news that he could only perform and not much else. Fine. That’s fair. He knows he has to play the part of the apologetic, reflecting idol. This can be accomplished. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The difficult part is that he’s lonely. Variety shows or not, promotions are a constant whirlwind of stylists and makeup artists grabbing at him, managers barking in his ear, band members glued to his side during all waking hours, and being shoved from studio to studio in vans that never have enough leg room for Mingyu. How does that saying go? How you can be surrounded by so many people yet still feel alone? Getting prepped for stages and performances doesn’t require a lot of human interaction — </span>
  <em>
    <span>real</span>
  </em>
  <span> human interaction. And his members are caught up in the tight schedules themselves, leaving Mingyu to his own devices more often than not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Then, when the taxing days are over and Mingyu can finally go through his sleepy, bedtime routine and tuck himself into bed, there’s no one there to talk to. To commiserate with. A change of dormitories means a chance in sleeping arrangements; Mingyu’s multi-year reign of sharing living space with Jihoon came to its conclusion. And because Mingyu has the shittiest luck (if getting caught by Dispatch doesn’t already say anything), ever clumsy in disposition, he lost an intense game of rock paper scissors, sentencing him to a room with yet </span>
  <em>
    <span>another</span>
  </em>
  <span> roommate — Wonwoo. Wonwoo, the man that slept in the living room to make room for his gaming system(s). Wonwoo, the man that barely sleeps in their shared room, because he’s too busy playing PC games in Seungcheol’s room, gets too tired to relocate to his </span>
  <em>
    <span>own</span>
  </em>
  <span> quarters and ends up sharing the bed with dear leader. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Which. Mingyu should be relieved that this essentially means that he has the room to himself like all the other lucky fucks (and to Seungcheol’s chagrin). But — and Mingyu can readily accept this character flaw, depending on whom you ask — he likes attention. Human interaction. Someone he can speak to about anything other than work or scandals. He and Jihoon had their feuds, </span>
  <em>
    <span>of course</span>
  </em>
  <span>, but they’d come to a mutual understanding of one another. From tolerance to acceptance, on Jihoon’s behalf. If Jihoon had to spend the night in his studio, Mingyu succumbed to his neediness and went over to co-exist while Jihoon produced. If there were schedules that ran well into the evening, it was Mingyu that was usually chosen to help represent the group. A job that he’s on hiatus from due to his impulsive desires for recreation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So that leaves busy days and lonely nights. Some days he even does a mental tally whilst in the shower or rolled up in his sheets, realizes that he hasn’t said anything non-idol related the entire day. That goes on for </span>
  <em>
    <span>several</span>
  </em>
  <span> days. Wonwoo wants to game, the other members are out in Seoul and Incheon promoting the album, and Mingyu is more or less on house arrest. The ’97 line group chat isn’t what it used to be, either; they’re still a little spooked, which is understandable, but Mingyu is fucking desperate and sad and isn’t sure how much longer he can take of this. (How can he be left on read by every one of them for </span>
  <em>
    <span>weeks</span>
  </em>
  <span>?) </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu wants a sense of normalcy. A semi-fresh scandal, new living arrangements, and a new album occurring within the same couple of months has thrown him off-kilter; he’s nostalgic for his life prior to the pandemic, when he was — ironically enough — praying for a break from preparations for their upcoming tour. Now he’s gotten that and then some. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Thank you, Past Mingyu. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<br/>
<span>Sunday night follows the same routine as the others: Mingyu has the room alone, Wonwoo is gaming, and his other members are either sleeping in their respective beds, on schedule, or doing god knows what. The point is that Mingyu’s floor is dead quiet, intermittent sounds of frantic button bashing carrying down the hall. He’s lying in his bed after a thirty-minute hot shower, blinking up at the ceiling fan because he can’t sleep. Even after a few weeks post-move, Mingyu keeps looking over to the other bed, expecting to see Jihoon there with his phone screen light splayed across his face, headphones in and one leg bent over the opposite’s knee. If he were more tired maybe he could hallucinate that scene for a few seconds. He’s not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon has had a few schedules in the past few days, but from Mingyu’s admittedly poor memory, Jihoon shouldn’t have anything to do tonight. He’s on a very short intermission from production, Beom-ju taking care of the half-completed songs that were meant to be on this album but are now assigned to their future. It’s a… thought that Mingyu tries to shove into his subconscious. He can be overbearing, he knows. That’s a significant portion of why he and Jihoon clashed in the beginning. Their years tempered Jihoon, aforesaid tolerance shifting closer and closer to acceptance until Mingyu was able to get away with demands that Jihoon never dared to withstand from the others. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu exhales a heavy breath, antsy fingers playing with the hem of his blanket. Alright. That isn’t helping. Just makes him want to go pester Jihoon. Well. Maybe if Mingyu explains to him that he’s feeling lonely and misplaced, disjointed from change after change, he’ll be sympathetic. And there’s no way he’s asleep right now; Jihoon is a night owl, more so than chronic gamer Wonwoo. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Just like that, Mingyu’s talked himself into being obnoxious. He’s already expecting to be immediately turned away with an annoyed whine and a hand wave as he slips out of bed, bare feet meeting the cold floorboard. Expecting, yet hopeful nonetheless. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Only for tonight</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Mingyu practices on the way. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Tonight. We can talk a little, and then I’ll sleep on the floor. Okay? Please?</span>
  </em>
  <span> If he turns on the light he can even punctuate his pleas with a pout (results vary). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The dormitory is dark and vacant. Mingyu toes past Seungcheol’s room, shooting a cursory glance down to where colorful lights play on the wood from under his door. Seungcheol’s definitely asleep in there while Wonwoo sits on the floor with his headset on, mashes buttons, and curses under his breath. Unfortunate. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>When the short hall opens up to the common space, the dark relinquishes to street lamps and moonlight; they never bother to pull the drapes over the picture windows since no one has to — or </span>
  <em>
    <span>chooses</span>
  </em>
  <span> to — sleep on the couch anymore. Mingyu hasn’t had a lot of free time to look out over what he can see of the city, drink in his new surroundings to make this feel more real, more permanent. Technically he </span>
  <em>
    <span>could</span>
  </em>
  <span> when dusk arrives and he’s left to his own devices. He doesn’t need daylight to memorize the skyline, the rectangular shapes of the windows on adjacent buildings, their glass panes and rust and how the shadows of their dormitories play across the paneling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But for some reason, a stubborn, visceral part of him refuses to let him linger and absorb. A part that tells him that if he does, if he meanders in the common space with a mug of coffee or evening chamomile tea and commits this to memory, acclimates to this disjointed, misplaced reality, then it becomes tangible. As if it isn’t tangible already. So, so stupid, but Mingyu is fucking </span>
  <em>
    <span>sad,</span>
  </em>
  <span> and emotional, and this is the final string of delusion that keeps him from losing his resolve and crying. He hasn’t felt like a human being in weeks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu carries this to Jihoon’s room, the one up two flights of stairs, tucked down a hall closest to the kitchen. He can tell the room is dark from the space underneath the door, but he doesn’t allow for a moment of contemplation before he’s slowly turning the handle and pushing it open just a sliver.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Confirmed dark. But there’s a familiar splay of light — phone light — that blinks across the wall in Mingyu’s line of sight, and for some reason that has tears welling in his eyes. Fuck. Mingyu releases the handle gently enough for it to not noisily snap back to place; leaning forward until his mouth is against open space, he whispers, “Jihoonie?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Silence. The light continues to blink. Is he wearing headphones? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jihoonie?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Shuffling of blankets. Mingyu waits and listens with bated breath. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mm?” comes his delayed response. It leans on tired more than annoyed. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu counts that as consent; he pushes the door open and squeezes his way inside. His eyes are adjusted to the dark from his careful journey here, but the glow of a moon from the window over Jihoon’s bed, as well as Jihoon’s phone, gives way to the image of a neat, lived-in room. Jihoon’s sprawled across his mattress on his back, phone hovering over his face like he always lays, his pre-sleep ritual. It almost feels as if they’re still roommates, and Jihoon’s waiting up for him to return from schedules. Almost. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Maybe Jihoon feels it, too. He regards Mingyu with a sleepy gaze, heavy-lidded eyes blinking at him like carding through water. His ink black hair shines with fluorescence and streaks of moonlight; the baby blue covers and bedding are a stark contrast to his black, oversized sleep shirt and shorts. And against this dichotomy of dark, the white to his skin is accentuated. Jihoon is following the same routine whether Mingyu sleeps nearby or not. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu hates how that stings in a very different way. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jihoonie,” Mingyu repeats. What he wants to say is, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I miss you</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon, idly holding his phone over his face, watches Mingyu advance and close the door behind himself. Once his screen flickers off from inactivity, Mingyu can no longer gauge Jihoon’s reaction; still, Mingyu persists, careful step after careful step, a slow amble as to not disturb the energy, or the quiet, or whatever precarious ambience that lies between him and Jihoon’s personal space. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is where Jihoon asks what he wants. What he’s doing, and if he doesn’t need anything to go away. This is also where Mingyu tells Jihoon he’s lonely, and it terrifies him, and Jihoon was that one constant in his life that he took for granted, and that finding him behave as he always does — pre-sleep routine and recumbent position and oversized clothes — both comforts and pains him. Because Jihoon remaining the Jihoon he came to understand is exactly what he needs to recalibrate, to remember that this sensation of displacement exists only inside of his head, but Jihoon remaining the Jihoon he came to understand means that Mingyu’s constant doesn’t share the same weight as Jihoon’s constant. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu is the only person that is febrile with nostalgia. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>In reality, Jihoon doesn’t ask what he wants. Nor does Mingyu scurry to explain or justify. Instead, Jihoon watches Mingyu approach the bed, and as Mingyu crawls into it, Jihoon scoots over to the wall. Then they’re adjusting so Mingyu can drape the sheets over his own legs; Jihoon was lying on top of them, but once Mingyu stirs the bedding Jihoon goes ahead and gets underneath with him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The members all share the same laundry detergent. Somehow, everywhere smells distinctly like Jihoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu rolls onto his side, facing Jihoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not tired?” Mingyu whispers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon quirks an eyebrow up. “I could ask you the same question.” He doesn’t bother to lower his voice. There’s no one else in there to tell them to shut up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Couldn’t sleep,” Mingyu says. He maintains an impassive face while Jihoon considers him, mouth pursed in a sleepy pout. Then, whatever Jihoon’s looking for, he doesn’t seem to find it; that, or he doesn’t have it in him to start a late-night interrogation. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon taps his phone screen back on but removes his wireless earbuds and returns them to their charging case. Another nonverbal signal Mingyu learned to parse in their two years as roommates — he knows Mingyu wants to talk, has made himself available. Almost as if nothing has changed at all. Mingyu shifts closer, close enough that he can rest his head on Jihoon’s shoulder to see what he’s up to; Jihoon subverts his expectations yet again and doesn’t automatically shove him away. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>So — maybe. Maybe? </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do you like this?” Mingyu asks. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon’s thumb stops scrolling through Twitter. His nail is long, nailbeds a soft pink even under the fluorescent light of his phone. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Guitar</span>
  </em>
  <span>, Jihoon’d told him once, when Mingyu’s curiosity got the better of him and he asked why he doesn’t cut them. That was all Jihoon supplied before tugging his studio headphones back on and getting to work. (Mingyu later googled what thumbnails have to do with a guitar). </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Like what? You next to me?” Jihoon asks. He resumes scrolling. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Having a room to yourself. Being alone.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon huffs a laugh through his nose. “Interesting choice of words. ‘Being alone’.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu doesn’t know how to walk the freudian slip back, so he says nothing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I like it,” Jihoon says. “We haven’t had a room to ourselves in… I don’t know how long. Before we became trainees?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He’s not sure why he thought Jihoon would respond any differently. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon stops scrolling again and turns his head to smirk mischievously at Mingyu, their faces now mere centimeters apart. Mingyu can feel Jihoon’s breath against his lips on every exhale. “What? You miss me already?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is where Mingyu returns a quip of his own, laughs Jihoon off and denies having feelings in lieu of maintaining a lighthearted atmosphere. But Mingyu isn’t Jihoon, and Mingyu is tired of putting on an act, performing from the moment he wakes up to the time he goes to sleep. Apologizing for being human. Having to control his expressions whilst dancing, hold back on variety shows in favor of conserving his role as the visual. Pretend he isn’t fucking sad and alone and wishing things would return to the way they were before the world went to shit. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>If he has to masquerade as somebody that he’s not in front of the entire world, so be it. But not with Jihoon. Anyone and anybody but Jihoon. So — </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” Mingyu says. He stares into Jihoon’s eyes. “I miss you. A lot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Immediate silence. Jihoon looks taken aback. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don’t think,” he continues. Shifts so he can see Jihoon better, the back of his hand tucked under his cheek. “I don’t think I want a single room.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon still considers him with uncertainty. “But you don’t. You’re with Wonwoo.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“In theory. He lives in Seungcheol hyung’s room.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Ah,” Jihoon drawls, nodding. “His PC.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“His PC,” Mingyu confirms. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>That, and Wonwoo doesn’t comfort him the same way Jihoon did (does). Their mutual silence is comfortable, as if there’s only a lapse in between conversation and at any time Mingyu can jump back in with whatever comes to mind first, and Jihoon will giggle and respond with his eyes planted on his phone or his laptop. And Mingyu likes Wonwoo. He’s inquisitive, cracks jokes at the perfect moments, doesn’t take up too much space with his body nor his voice despite being one of the tallest and having one of the deepest voices. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But their silence isn’t a lapse in conversation. It’s just that — silence. One that Mingyu feels he’s disrupting whenever he decides to mention something he saw, or point out something hilarious he found on Twitter or Instagram. So they’re quiet, mutually quiet, and sometimes Mingyu wonders if Wonwoo even sees him as anything more than a man that shares his living space. Seldom friends, often strangers. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lately, Mingyu’s been left to feel like a stranger with most of the band. When the camera’s lights blink red and they’re on national television or filming for their Youtube series’, it’s a different story. Everyone is themselves ramped up to one hundred, one thousand, and if Mingyu pretends hard enough he can really believe that that is how they always are with one another — constantly cracking jokes, carrying easy conversation as to never allow quiet to fall between, hugging and holding hands, leaning heads on shoulders. Then the performance is over, and all too quickly they’re the men that’ve been forced together for the past near-decade.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That plays into why Mingyu’s gravitated to Jihoon, sure. Jihoon doesn’t create a character in front of company; he’s himself on set, in front of a camera, or lounging in the dormitories. At times he may pep up, usually when their managers tell him that he hasn’t been putting forth the effort to be noticed, but even then he doesn’t play along with behaviors that his bandmates would never dare to do behind the scenes, doesn’t laugh if he doesn’t find it funny, doesn’t allow physical contact if he doesn’t want it. Jihoon through and through. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu wishes he was comfortable with himself to do that — be Mingyu the person and not Mingyu the idol twenty-four seven. He’s not there, yet, but at least with Jihoon he’s the closest to it than he’s been in years. Jihoon hates false pleasantries, one of several reasons they clashed their first few months as roommates. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Things are different now, though. Mingyu opens his mouth and says the truth, answers, “He’s not you,” when Jihoon responds to his </span>
  <em>
    <span>his PC</span>
  </em>
  <span> with, “Wonwoo is a good roommate. Clean and not talkative.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon pulls the taken aback expression again, but this time more subdued. “Not me,” he parrots, voice falling in volume. Despite the past two years, despite valuing frankness over subtlety, Jihoon gives the same awkward disposition whenever Mingyu refuses to mince words. And Mingyu, perhaps a tad juvenile, enjoys the push. The further he takes it, baring his soul and letting Jihoon sort through the mess, the more Jihoon’s own resolve comes undone, malleable beneath Mingyu’s fingers.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Don’t be shy. Don’t feel afraid to be vulnerable. Not with me. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I never hated being your roommate,” Mingyu matches Jihoon’s gentle tone, as if hiding secrets from an audience that doesn’t exist. “You know that.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon’s thin lips are parted with unsaid words, his gaze unyielding. That’s always been the most endearing part of him, to Mingyu — how he never breaks eye contact, albeit sharing emotion leaves him unguarded and at Mingyu’s mercy. A battle without defenses; now that Mingyu’s made his move, it’s Jihoon’s turn. He’s not good at this part. The warm-up. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I,” Jihoon starts. Stops. Mingyu watches his mouth flop uselessly until he seems to collect himself, so brief that if Mingyu hadn’t known him for so long he would’ve missed it. “I didn’t hate it, either. I liked it — and I like this.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu waits for him to stop talking before glancing back up into his eyes. They’re easier to see this close, Jihoon’s eyelashes fanning with every blink. “Do you prefer it?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Again, Jihoon’s turn. He shifts his stare off somewhere over Mingyu’s shoulder to think it over; his eyebrows inch closer together. Then he shrugs gently and lowers his phone face-down on his chest. “Honestly, a little, yeah. No offense,” when he looks at Mingyu again there’s a smile playing at the corner of his lips. “But you’re not exactly quiet.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu huffs a laugh through his nose. “I thought you liked that about me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sometimes.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I cleaned,” Mingyu tries. “Who’s gonna fold your laundry now? Or make your bed? Or clean up your takeout boxes when you leave them on the desk? Or wipe down the toi —“ </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can do that,” Jihoon’s laughing now, eyes falling into crescent moons. “I can clean, too, thank you very much.” He nudges Mingyu’s shin with his foot, giggles and squirms away when Mingyu returns the nudge twice as hard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu pouts at him, says, “Yeah? Well, before you didn’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>have</span>
  </em>
  <span> to do it. That’s the point. I was a good housekeeper, admit it.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon’s laughter fades. “Okay, fine,” he says. “You were a good housekeeper. I already told you I didn’t hate it; what more do you want from me?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“For you to say you preferred being with me.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>The lapse that follows feels much different from the one prior. In place of the uncertainty, this silence is a curtain that hangs heavy — and Mingyu knows then that he and Jihoon are thinking the same thing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon’s gaze is oscillating between Mingyu’s eyes, searching. His smile loosens bit by bit. Because — yes, he isn’t Wonwoo. There aren’t the same uncomfortable pauses that Mingyu is desperate to fill but too nervous to try. And similarly to the disjointed mess that Mingyu has been the past few months, almost on par with his life as a trainee (when the fear of his unpredictable future was so potent he aspirated it, his dreams so fragile they could crumble with the twitch of a finger), the memories they recall are haphazard. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Piece by piece, a cohesive image is created. Those odd nights that Mingyu would beckon Jihoon to show him some stupid video, and Jihoon would tuck into Mingyu’s side to watch and giggle and remain. Those odd nights — eerily close to this one — that Mingyu would do or say something stupid like the stupid videos, and Jihoon would point at him and laugh. And once they settled into their peaceful quiet they wouldn’t look away. Watching one another like the stupid videos, but not humorously. And it should’ve been awkward, really fucking awkward once one of them realized what they were doing and stopped — but it </span>
  <em>
    <span>wasn’t</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Being with Jihoon was never awkward, no matter what they got up to. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu understands why now. Here, in Jihoon’s new room, on a new bed that already carries his scent, Mingyu is staring at Jihoon and it’s not awkward and </span>
  <em>
    <span>he knows why</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A sparse splay of moonlight is white fire in Jihoon’s pupils. Mingyu can see that because Jihoon hasn’t broken eye contact. Nor has Mingyu. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Malleable once warmed up, Jihoon’s defenses are falling. “I didn’t hate it,” he repeats. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I miss it,” Mingyu says, soft. “And you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>There’s a brief upwards quirk of Jihoon’s mouth. “I’m right here.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what I mean.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon doesn’t answer. He knows. Instead, he watches Mingyu for a while longer, maybe five, ten seconds, before he does a slow roll. Then he’s on his side, facing him, mirroring Mingyu’s position with a hand under his own cheek. Fringe damp and straight, his hair falls across his forehead. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you staying here tonight?” Jihoon asks. There’s no malice to his tone. A Jihoon he wants to keep to himself. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu slides his head up, then down. To be sure Jihoon understands, he answers a delayed, “Yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon’s already expecting him when Mingyu scoots closer like they were before; Jihoon has a hand gently cradle Mingyu’s jaw, slender fingers splayed across his cheekbone, when Mingyu leans his head in and catches Jihoon’s lips in a kiss. Mingyu savors the moment of his mouth against Jihoon’s, a warmth supple and unfamiliar to him. As if trying to cover foreign ground himself, Jihoon answers with nothing more than a subtle oscillation of firm and soft pecks without breaking apart. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is what he knows. Why it hasn’t been awkward in </span>
  <em>
    <span>years</span>
  </em>
  <span>, why Mingyu can stare unyieldingly and Jihoon doesn’t shy away nor crumble in his hands. Here’s the culmination of every glance, every time Jihoon lied with Mingyu or Mingyu lied with him, every time Mingyu could be with Jihoon in his studio to share their silence like they’re carrying on a pervasive, wordless conversation. Co-exist and not fret over what to say or do next. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu’s a grown fucking man and yet never understood it for what it was. Foolish. But whether it’s taken a myriad of changes — a feeling of displacement — to reach this conclusion or not, the point is that he’s here, and he’s kissing Jihoon, and </span>
  <em>
    <span>Jihoon’s kissing him back</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Mingyu, obnoxious and needy and in love, wants more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He presses into the kiss, and Jihoon matches his vigor, presses back. Then Mingyu’s tilting his own head towards the ceiling for an easier slide, fingers coming up so he can card through Jihoon’s drying hair. He does a gentle prod of tongue, waits for Jihoon’s mouth to go slack before licking past the seam of his lips. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time Mingyu doesn’t care to stop and savor. It’s a little sloppy and uncoordinated when Mingyu licks over and between Jihoon’s teeth, across his hard palate, trying to leave nothing untouched while Jihoon works to make sense of him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They find a pattern soon enough, slow and easy. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Easy. Yeah. Kissing Jihoon isn’t like he thought it would be, in those brief moments he found his mind straying to the idea. He didn’t expect it to be </span>
  <em>
    <span>awkward</span>
  </em>
  <span>, because that hasn’t been their dynamic; but he </span>
  <em>
    <span>did</span>
  </em>
  <span> expect it to be interspersed with nervous laughter, and that there’d be a lot of buildup before they looked at one another and thought to themselves, </span>
  <em>
    <span>wow</span>
  </em>
  <span>, </span>
  <em>
    <span>I want to kiss him</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Nothing so — easy. Comfortable and in the dark of Jihoon’s room, on his bed, in dead silence. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu definitely prefers this. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>They break away because they have to. Mingyu breathes heavily, mostly from the adrenaline more than anything else, eyes locked on Jihoon’s pink, spit-slick lips. It’s a darker color now, blooming from the pressure of Mingyu’s mouth. The quiet of the dormitories gives way for the gentle pants of Jihoon’s own breaths, made louder with nothing to mute it. His palm on Mingyu’s cheek strays, over the jut of his jaw, his neck, rests in the crook. A few fingertips play underneath the stretched collar. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu takes this opportunity to venture his palm over Jihoon’s pectorals. He flickers up to Jihoon’s heavy-lidded eyes, watching intently as he ventures lower. And, jesus, he can feel the hard muscle Jihoon’s built over the past few years, the deep striations of his abdominals, rock-hard even after an entire day when </span>
  <em>
    <span>normal</span>
  </em>
  <span> people are a little bloated and soft. He’s seen him shirtless countless times, of course, but he’s never been able to appreciate Jihoon’s body with his hands and not just his eyes. And Jihoon’s letting him, lying pliant while Mingyu explores, lower, lower. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He stops to play at the hem of Jihoon’s oversized sleep shirt. “Hey.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon keeps staring. His cheeks are colored a pretty pink. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu shyly lowers his gaze to where he’s playing with Jihoon’s shirt. “I wanna say something.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>A breathless laugh. “I could tell by the ‘hey’.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I love you.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He doesn’t look up even when he feels Jihoon’s expression change. Change to what, he isn’t sure and isn’t sure he wants to find out, either — but he can tell it’s different. His heart starts to pace, so fast and so quickly he can feel each beat inside his ears, pulsing. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>And when Jihoon starts to giggle, Mingyu swears his ribs are going to fracture under the stress. Still, he refuses to watch anything other than his own hands. A laugh is better than a noise of disgust or discomfort, but it’s not reassuring, either. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Not like — “Yeah?” Jihoon’s voice comes out weak. Unsure. This gets Mingyu to look up. He finds a face burning hot hot hot hot, the tips of Jihoon’s ears flaming red. “Me too.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu gapes. “You too?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon laughs again, an obviously nervous one now that Mingyu can see his rapid blinking and blood-red ears. “Yeah.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Yeah.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Yeah</span>
  </em>
  <span>. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Lump in his throat and blurry vision be damned, Mingyu fights against the threat of tears. Because — wow. He’s been so stuck inside of his head, running himself ragged with thoughts of being forgotten, being seen as nothing more than a puppet or a means to an end (profit). Unofficial house arrest leaves too much time to ruminate in destructive self-talk; especially when Mingyu has a string of days where he doesn’t even have the chance to be a human being, has to survive schedules only to go back to his quiet, empty dormitory room to ruminate some more. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>But. Jihoon’s always been here. Same room, different one, doesn’t matter. Jihoon is Mingyu’s constant. His friend, his bandmate, his first love. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Mingyu’s not alone. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Can I stay here?” Mingyu’s voice is weak, too. A vulnerable crack of tears and joy. “Sometimes? If I — If I don’t wanna sleep alone?” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swears Jihoon’s eyes are also wet. The moonlight is unforgiving when it wants to be. “Yes, idiot.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don’t have to call me an idiot,” Mingyu pouts. Which he can’t keep up for long, because of course he breaks down and starts crying like an actual idiot. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Jun and Hansol are standing in the kitchen, eating bowls of cereal while mindlessly watching the living room television, when Mingyu and Jihoon meander into the common space. Mingyu goes straight for the cabinets, pulling out a cup to pour himself some water from the faucet filter; Jihoon stops and waits for Mingyu to pour himself a glass before he goes to do the same. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Hansol has a mouth full of cereal as he watches Mingyu chug his water down like he hasn’t had any liquids in days. “When did you get up here?” he says around his bite. There’s an insinuated, </span>
  <em>
    <span>and why are you shirtless?</span>
  </em>
  <span> at the end, but Mingyu pretends he doesn’t know Hansol that well. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Jihoon’s busy sipping from his own glass, so Mingyu answers. “Came up last night to talk to Jihoonie and ended up falling asleep.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Now Jun’s tuned into the conversation. His gaze shifts from Mingyu’s shirtless back — as Mingyu turns the faucet back on — to a sleepy, bed-headed Jihoon. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Jihoon,” Jun says. When Jihoon blinks tiredly at him, mouth still on the rim of his glass, Jun follows the length of Jihoon’s shirt down to where it rests, almost to his knees. “Are you wearing Mingyu’s shirt?” </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>jigyu best svt ship. thank you for reading. all kudos/comments are greatly appreciated! </p><p> </p><p>  <a href="https://curiouscat.me/disiIIusioned">my CC if you wanna chat!</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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